


Resolve Yourself

by Rhaized



Series: The Madonna and Baby [2]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass (2007)
Genre: All the feels Mrs. Coulter doesn't want to feel, Gen, General Oblation Board, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Quarantine, Stay-at-home order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23739196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaized/pseuds/Rhaized
Summary: Maybe this isn't so bad, Mrs. Coulter thought, leaning over and offering Lyra a three-pronged triangle to finish the puzzle's left corner. Maybe she could resolve herself to this.-or-After a global virus outbreak leaves Brytainers forced to work remotely from home, Mrs. Coulter struggles to help her flailing Oblation Board continue its operations while also caring for (and hiding her work from) Lyra, who had just come to live with her in London.
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter
Series: The Madonna and Baby [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998481
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	Resolve Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> I, like many people right now, am working from home and randomly wondered how Mrs. Coulter would fare under such conditions. Just a quick fic where Mrs. Coulter has to put out fires for the Oblation Board from her flat in London while keeping the ever-energetic Lyra entertained and none the wiser. I hope you enjoy reading this, and that it might bring a welcome break from your own remote work/worry over the world.
> 
> CW/TW: But if you have a lot of quarantine anxiety, I understand you may not wish to read a story about it. Just a heads up!

**Resolve Yourself**

  
  


It was a complete and utter disaster.

Mrs. Coulter turned up the anbaric radio in her study, listening to the early morning broadcast and shushing the golden money and his incessant chatter. 

“I repeat: all employees, including public and Church officials, are required to stay home,” the announcer was saying. “Direct orders from White Hall Palace, Geneva, and the Magisterial Seat. STAY HOME. Your direct supervisors will be in contact.”

_The Oblation Board._ That’s all Mrs. Coulter could think about as she moved her chair over to the rotary dial and punched in the number for Father MacPhail, who she supposed could be considered her direct supervisor. She bet he _loved_ that, being responsible for her work and holding control and power over her. She'd been saying all along to Carlo that the power was getting to Hugh's head, what with his "Decrees of Discretion" and demand of weekly reports. He was but a mediocre priest who happened to be in the right place at the right time. What did he know about her work, and about Dust, children, human consciousness and the like? It was ludicrous for him to be overseeing any of the advanced experimental theology she was spearheading. He didn't understand it, and didn't even _want_ to understand it. 

Mrs. Coulter brushed those thoughts aside and pulled up her paperwork, which had the exact details of all her staff and what they were supposed to be doing at the Station. She had to make sure their operations were able to sustain themselves, as she didn't know when she'd be able to get there in person. When _anyone_ could. The Magisterium's politics and incompetence was a battle for another day, for they were in the middle of something larger than humankind had seen in quite some time. 

“Yes, I've heard the news,” Mrs. Coulter snapped at Father MacPhail. He _dared_ ask if she'd listened to her radio, as if she would be calling him for any other reason. "I don't need you to tell me what it means. Just get me a call with the Cardinal so we can discuss our next moves!" 

"Mrs. Coulter?" Just then, Lyra's head popped into the office. 

Everything stopped. Mrs. Coulter hadn't closed the door. How was it that she'd forgotten to close the office door? It was the first thing she did in the morning. She threw the blame onto the monkey, naturally, as his _antics_ never ceased to distract her. Everything would be smoother if he could just control himself. She fought her inner rage and turmoil and panic, though, and instead smiled down at her daughter, who still didn't know that she was, in fact, her daughter. 

"Good morning, darling. What is it?" 

With that she hung up the phone on Father MacPhail. He _certainly_ didn't need to know her business here, and he frankly didn't deserve her attention at the moment anyway, the mansplaining fool that he was. The girl made up some tale about hearing a noise in the hallway ( _how she lies!_ the monkey growled to her) before Mrs. Coulter smoothed down her hair and told her not to worry. 

"Why don't you get started with your lessons for the day?" Mrs. Coulter suggested. Lyra scowled, and Mrs. Coulter raised her eyebrows in response. It was enough to convince her to turn around and march back to her bedroom, Pan in tow as a mini grizzly bear. 

All the while, Mrs. Coulter's mind was wondering how far North the virus had spread, and how she was going to transport kidnapped children in the middle of a pandemic featuring a disease that destroyed people's digestive systems. 

_The usual working mother dilemma,_ she thought to herself, darkly. 

The second day of the mandatory stay-at-home order wasn't any better. 

“Tell me what’s happening,” Mrs. Coulter demanded when she'd gotten a hold of Dr. Cooper, holding the phone dial so close to her ear that it pinched. “What is the child doing? What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”

The doctors there were losing their damn minds. _Nothing_ about their immediate circumstances had changed. They dealt with the same amount of children and were conducting the same types of experiments. What could possibly be so difficult for them? And why did it fall on _her_ to troubleshoot their issues? What was she paying them for? 

_Idiots!_ the golden monkey echoed, trying to be useful as Mrs. Coulter talked the doctors through the procedure and answered all of their irrelevant, super specific questions. It would be so much easier to explain in person, but alas, they were in the middle of a pandemic, and she had to look after Lyra. 

“Mrs. Coulter!” Lyra was back on the third day, pounding empathically at the office door. Anger flared through Mrs. Coulter, as she'd _told_ the child _not_ to interrupt her while she was in her private study. She knew Lyra only had a vague idea of the kind of work she did, and Mrs. Coulter hadn't yet actually told Lyra about the pandemic, but she should still know better than to act like this. 

“Lyra!” Mrs. Coulter finally called out, her hand covering the receiver on the phone. “I told you that I am _working_ right now. Could you _please_ go back to your studies and let me finish up here?”

Except, this time, it was actually warranted. When Mrs. Coulter opened the door, Lyra led her to the kitchen where one of the serving staff was throwing up violently at the sink, a foul smell lingering in the air. 

"No," Mrs. Coulter whispered, clutching her chest and, with her other arm, pulling Lyra closer to her. She squeezed the girl's shoulders so hard it probably hurt. "Did you touch him, Lyra? Please tell me you didn't touch him!" 

Lyra shook her head, tears beginning to form now at the sight and at the severity of the situation. Mrs. Coulter softened at that, bringing Lyra into a full embrace and kissing her head. She then moved her away from the scene and called emergency services. 

Mrs. Coulter and Lyra were to quarantine in their own home for the next few days, staying only in their living quarters while a team of health officials came to decontaminate the rest of the flat and investigate the serving staff. They didn't know how the servant had gotten the virus and who else he had been in contact with, so everything was on hold for the moment. Which was _great_ for Mrs. Coulter's work. 

"I told you," Mrs. Coulter murmured on the phone from the living room, aware of Lyra peeking at her curiously even as she busied herself with a collection of photograms from Mrs. Coulter's most recent trip to the North. "I can't really talk right now. My flat is under watch. Do you know what to do or not?" 

Dr. Cooper was hopeless, it seemed. They all were. Father MacPhail called her in the middle of dinner to warn her about travel inspections for every car leaving the city during the quarantine. Hissing and swearing at the man, she hung up and immediately phoned her associates at the warehouse, grateful that Lyra had retreated to her bedroom to jump on the bed and do whatever silly thing that occupied her attention. 

“Lyra!”

Three mornings later, when things were starting to get _real_ bad, Mrs. Coulter darted out onto the balcony to pull Lyra back from teetering on the edge of it. The girl had been laughing, swinging her arms and pretending she would jump, her daemon sailing downward as a bird and then launching back up, giggling with her. 

"What?" Lyra asked, as if insulted when Mrs. Coulter brought her back to the ground and grabbed her by the shoulders. "I wasn't gonna fall! I've got good balance."

"Don't you realize how unsafe it is outside right now?" Mrs. Coulter practically shrieked, shaking the girl's shoulders. She'd sat Lyra down and told her about the pandemic a few days before. She explained what viral infections were and how important it was for them to stay safe inside the apartment. "Were you listening to me, Lyra?" 

"'Course I was!' Lyra pouted back, looking down at her feet. The golden monkey growled, and Mrs. Coulter felt her lips twitch up into a snarl as she nudged her child back inside, taking care to lock the balcony door behind her. 

Finally, as the virus spread even well into the furthest regions of the North and her staff called her coughing and unable to perform their duties, Mrs. Coulter disconnected her phone from the line, staring down at it. The golden monkey crept closer to her, head bowed and eyes lowered. 

"It's done," she whispered to him, eyes still locked on the phone cord. "They can't avoid it any longer. Even the children are getting sick."

The woman's daemon was silent and unmoving as she threw the phone across the room, her face twisting. Mrs. Coulter didn't consider herself an inherently violent woman, but with everything that was happening, she couldn't really help it. The phone had flown from her hands and her feet had found themselves stomping on it almost of their own volition. She had to get it out of her system, she determined. The monkey understood this feeling well and respectfully waited for her to finish before she stormed outside, slamming the door shut behind her. 

"What are you up to, Lyra?" she called out upon entering the living room, her voice as soft and sweet as she could muster. She'd come back to her senses now as she spotted Lyra spread out on the floor with a large puzzle in front of her. Pan was sitting on her shoulder as an owl, hooting and gesturing toward certain pieces. 

"Trying to figure this out," Lyra answered slowly, her eyes scanning a group of pieces in front of her. 

_Me, too,_ Mrs. Coulter thought, pangs of anxiety returning to her as she thought back to the Station and to the Magisterium and, quite honestly, the state of the world. 

"Can I help?" 

It was an unexpected question for the both of them, as Mrs. Coulter had been working late into the night lately and normally didn't spend time with Lyra like this. She hadn't anticipated herself to so suddenly wish to escape from her work. Lyra's eyes widened, but she quickly nodded and moved over to make room for Mrs. Coulter beside her on the floor. 

"Let's see what we have here," Mrs. Coulter said as she settled in, eyeing the pieces in front of them. She listened to Lyra explain her process and what parts she'd completed so far, noting how focused she was. Why couldn't she demonstrate such focus on her studies, Mrs. Coulter wondered? She was sharp, and her memory was detailed as she recalled where she'd last seen which piece of which part. It was delightful to watch, really. 

_Maybe this isn't so bad,_ Mrs. Coulter thought, leaning over and offering Lyra a three-pronged triangle to finish the puzzle's left corner. _Maybe I can resolve myself to this._

The golden monkey huffed at her from his place in the corner, but Mrs. Coulter paid him no mind. She laughed as Pan made a dive into a pile of pieces, scattering them everywhere. This caused Lyra to jump after him, stepping on the puzzle and almost crashing to the floor as her foot slipped on it. But Mrs. Coulter caught her, holding her in her arms and then tickling beneath her armpits. Lyra squealed, clearly enjoying herself, and Pan flew above them as a singing blue bird. 

They'd never had a night like this, Mrs. Coulter realized as she let Lyra go and moved to tuck the child's hair back behind her ear. It was nice, to laugh and have fun. It felt something akin to what every other mother would consider _normal._

_Maybe I can resolve myself to this,_ Mrs. Coulter repeated to herself, looking out at the locked balcony and realizing in that moment what really mattered and what, perhaps, didn't matter after all. 


End file.
